Just for Fun (37 page)

“Uh . . . she’s done something to you, too,” Lucy pointed
out. “You’re named in here, Em.”

“So?” Emma asked fiercely. “Are my family and friends going
to believe this? Did you? Did you read it and think, my, I never knew my sister
was such a spineless tramp?”

“And what about Zack?” Lucy asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Emma said, sobered now. “That’s the worst, isn’t it?
But his friends aren’t big
Herald
readers,” she said, rallying. “And he
isn’t
named. And anyway, it isn’t
true.
Nic
is
paying the
maintenance, and he
has
acknowledged Zack. We’re not going to let this
beat us, or let it beat Nic either.”

Despite what she’d told Lucy, Emma found herself sick
with anxiety after her sister left. This wasn’t going to do Nic’s previously
sterling reputation the least bit of good, or help his endorsement contracts
either. She knew how quickly the New Zealand public could turn on a sportsman, an
All Black in particular. Members of the national rugby team weren’t just
supposed to be the best at the game. They were meant to behave like champions
off the field as well. There was no tolerance for anything less.

Why did he have to be so far away, and the time so
different? He’d just played a brutally difficult match, she reminded herself.
He’d be sleeping. She’d have to wait until late evening, morning his time, to
talk to him, that was all. She didn’t have anything to ask him anyway. But
she’d like to have heard his voice, all the same.

She decided to clean the flat. She needed to move, and that
was as good a way as any. When vacuuming and dusting, scrubbing the tub weren’t
enough, she attacked the worn lino on the kitchen floor with a scrub brush and
a vengeance, working on her hands and knees until it shone. Her flat was too
small for any really satisfactory release of energy, but at least it was clean
now.

After resisting for hours, she finally gave in to temptation
and looked at the story online, read the public comments that followed the
article. And was immediately sorry she had. Her spirits plummeted further as
she saw that fully 86 New Zealanders had already taken the trouble to weigh in
on the topic, even in the face of a major World Cup victory. Any hope she’d had
that Nic’s performance in today’s semifinal would have lessened the ire towards
him was quickly dispelled.

“Disgusting sense of entitlement.” “Those boys are paid well
to be role models. If he can’t even behave with common decency, the All Blacks
don’t need him.” “What’s wrong with our national values when this kind of thing
is acceptable?” And those were some of the more measured remarks. Screen after
screen of them, almost all negative. The least vitriolic merely unconcerned.
“He’s a sportsman, not a Boy Scout. Who cares what he does off the field.”
Nobody seemed to have any problem at all believing the rumors.

Next came the concerned call from her parents. They too were
quick to believe the story, she found. To believe anything bad about Nic,
despite her earlier explanations, her assurances now that the allegations were
false.

“He’s made four maintenance payments so far,” she reminded
them. “And that big back payment too, which was all him. He had no obligation
to do that. And here’s what I want to know,” she appealed. “Should I ring the
paper and tell them that?”

“You’ll just draw more attention to it,” her mother
counseled. “Why pour fuel on the fire? You can’t be popular right now, being cast
as the other woman, breaking up that relationship, and they aren’t going to
believe you. The whole thing is going to be bad enough for Zack. Let it die
down. Let it go, and it’ll become yesterday’s news.”

“But it’s not fair,” she protested. “Nic hasn’t done
anything wrong. How can I sit here and let people attack him like that?”

“Life isn’t fair,” her mother said. “You know that. You’re
talking like a child.”

“What does that saying even mean?” Emma demanded. “That it’s
not fair, and I should just accept that? Well, I’m not going to. Not this time.
Life may not be fair, but I am. I have to go. I’ve got something I need to do.”

“Nico.” He felt the touch on his shoulder. Reached out an
arm to pull Emma close, encountered only a pillow. Emerged slowly from the fog
of the dream he’d been having about her, opened his eyes to see Koti standing
over him.

He closed his eyes again with a groan. “You’re pretty, mate,
but you’re not who I want to see this morning. Go away.”

“You need to see this,” his roommate insisted. “Wake up.”

“What is it?” Nic asked reluctantly, seeing Koti holding his
open laptop. “You shouldn’t read your own press, you know. And I’m sure as hell
not interested. If you want somebody to tell you that your try was the most
magnificent piece of football they’ve ever seen, ring your wife.”

“I’m not joking, Nico,” Koti insisted. “Sit up and read
this.”

Nic realized his seriousness at last. He sat up, a cold
dread suddenly filling him. “Is it Zack?” he demanded. “Emma?”

“In a manner of speaking. Not hurt,” Koti went on hastily as
Nic paled. “Just . . . just read it, cuz.”

“Bloody hell,” Nic said when he saw the headline. He
continued to curse softly as he finished the article. Looked up at Koti
furiously, finally at a loss for words.

“She’s touched a nerve with that,” his roomie said with
sympathy. “Heaps of comments too.”

Nic gave his terse opinion of what everyone could do with
their comments.

“Not true, I take it,” Koti said.

Nic rubbed a thumb over the bridge of his nose and sighed.
“Nah. Not true. But how am I meant to prove it?”

“Somebody’s had a whack at it for you,” Koti said. He
swiveled the laptop around, clicked a few times. “She must be a hell of a girl.
That took some nerve.”

 “Oh, no,” Nic groaned. “Emma.” A photo of her looking
pretty and defiant. And plenty of quotes. She really
had
thrown herself
in there.

“Nic and I had a short relationship when we were both very
young,” he read. “Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to let him know at the time that
that relationship had resulted in a child. He didn’t find out, in fact, until
this year, when he was already engaged to Claudia. But as soon as he discovered
it—and I mean the day after he discovered it—he was involved. He’s acknowledged
paternity of our son, he’s paid the full maintenance every month since, and
he’s set up a schedule of visitation which he’s kept to. I have no idea why
Mrs. Parker would say the things she has. But I want to state for the record
that Nic has done everything he should have done, everything he could have
done, for his son.”

He scrolled down, read the rest. “In response to the
allegations of an ongoing relationship between herself and Wilkinson, Ms. Martens
responded, ‘We were not romantically involved while Nic was engaged to
Claudia.’ She refused further comment on the subject.”

“That’s something Kate would do,” Koti mused when Nic looked
up again. “Not many women would come out swinging like that, though, without
thinking about what kind of abuse they were letting themselves in for.”

“She looks like a fluffy little kitten,” Nic said. “But
she’s got the heart of a lion.”

“That’s mana,” Koti agreed. “Good on her.”

“I need to ring her,” Nic realized. “This happened, when?”
He checked the first article again. “Yesterday. Bloody hell. I need to talk to
her.”

“Coming down for breakfast?” Koti asked.

“Tell them I’ll be down in a minute. I need to do this first.”

After ten her time, he realized. “Hi,” he said when she
answered. “Am I waking you up?”

Her laugh was shaky. “Not exactly. I’m so glad to hear your
voice. It’s been . . . a hard day.”

“Aw, Emma,” he pleaded. “Don’t cry. Come on, sweetheart.
Don’t cry.”

“Can’t help it,” he heard through the sobs. “Give me a
minute, OK?”

 “Has it really been bad?” he asked when she’d got herself
under control again. “Your family?”

“No,” she said, her voice a bit snuffly still. “It’s all
right. Lucy, my parents . . . Did you see what your dad said?”

“Oh, no,” he groaned. “What did he say? Do I want to hear
this?”

“It’s not like that. It’s good. Are you online? Look for it.
I’ll wait.”

“Did you find it?” she asked after a minute.

“Yeh. Hang on. I’m reading.” Short and sweet, he saw. “‘Nic’s
never been anything but a credit to us,’ the elder Wilkinson asserted. “I trust
him to do what’s right, because that’s how he was raised. I know this is all
bollocks, because I know my son.
And
my grandson. I don’t know what Claudia’s
mum’s on about. And that’s all I have to say.’”

“Well, that’s set them right,” he said with a smile.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “He’s on your side. No doubt about
that.”

“I’d better ring them too, this morning,” he decided. “Nah,
too late now. Tonight, then. Crikey, what a bloody cock-up. But talking of
people who’re on my side, what you did? I appreciate it, but you shouldn’t have.
You don’t have to fight my battles.”

“Of course I do. What did you expect? I’m not going to let
people say those kinds of things about you. Why would Claudia’s mum even say
that, though? It’s all over. I don’t get it.”

“I don’t know,” he said, almost as perplexed as she was. “I
can’t believe that’s what Claudia told her. I guess it’s how she twisted what
she heard. She was so wrapped up in it all—the wedding, the publicity, the
whole ‘glamour couple’ thing. She had a scrapbook, you know? Like you did with
Zack, that baby book. But instead, it was full of all Claudia’s press clippings,
the adverts we did together. She’d got herself so invested. That was her
career, being glamorous Claudia’s mum. And now, all the World Cup publicity,
thinking about what might have been . . .”

“She needed somebody to blame,” Emma finished.

“Reckon she did. At least until Claudia marries a politician.
Or becomes one herself. Only a matter of time. And I need to say something else,”
he went on, serious now. “There’s nothing in the rest of what she said either.
About my being—whatever the hell it was. ‘Popular with the ladies.’ I don’t
spread anything around. I hope you know that.”

“I do,” she said, and he heard the catch in her voice. “But
it helps to have you tell me.”

He grimaced. “That’s it, isn’t it. How do you prove you
didn’t
do something? Because if it
were
true, I’d say the same thing,
wouldn’t I? But it’s not. I promise it’s not.”

“I know it’s not,” she assured him again. “You don’t need to
worry about me. I didn’t believe it. I never doubted you.”

He sat a moment in silence, feeling shaken and humbled by
her faith in him, especially given his disastrously poor performance the last
time around. He’d been wracking his brain for a way to reassure her, and hadn’t
been able to come up with a single thing. It was such a relief to know he
didn’t have to. He wished he knew how to tell her that, but he couldn’t think of
what to say. The phone just didn’t work well enough, he thought in frustration.
He needed to see her, and hold her. To be able to show her how he felt.

“How’s Zack?” he asked at last, abandoning the attempt to
express himself. “Least she didn’t name him. Be thankful for small blessings, I
guess.”

“He doesn’t know. I didn’t see any point in telling him.
It’s over, I hope. And oh!” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe I haven’t said!
Congratulations on your win.”

He laughed a bit in grateful relief. “Yeh. The win. It
was
nice, at the time.”

School holidays had been shifted about to accommodate
the semifinals and final of the World Cup, to Emma’s amusement. Only in New
Zealand. Zack would be off this week and next. Which meant that when Nic came
home next week, they could spend some time with him. Maybe she could arrange a
day or two off herself, she thought as she was hurrying Zack through the Monday
morning routine before dropping him at the childcare center. She’d heard from
2nd Hemisphere again, and late November was looking like a real possibility. If
Roger was annoyed, well, maybe it didn’t matter quite so much. Not if she could
finally, mercifully, look forward to the day she could quit this job.

She’d thought it would be easier to keep working there, now
that she was looking at the possibility of leaving. To her surprise, the
opposite was true. One foot, it seemed, was already out the door, with the rest
of her longing to follow. Especially today. Anything Elizabeth’s article hadn’t
accomplished, she knew, her own picture and defense of Nic would have finished
off. She’d be Topic A today, even amongst an office full of engineers.

Well, that was just too bad, she told herself bracingly.
Because she needed her paycheck, and so did Zack. She walked into the office at
her usual time, headed straight for her desk without saying hello to anyone,
and immediately switched on her computer and pulled up the Emirates Building
revisions. Let someone take issue with
that.

Her self-imposed Zone of Isolation did its business, and she
worked through the morning undisturbed. Until her mobile rang, just before noon.
Lucy.

“Can you talk?” her sister asked.

“If it’s important. I’m trying to get these drawings done.”

“You didn’t see, then.”

“What
didn’t I see?” Emma was getting alarmed now.
“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, man. I hate to tell you, Em. But . . . go look, online.
It’s the
Herald
again. And then ring me back.”

Nic Wilkinson’s double life . . . Or is it a hat trick?

Emma skimmed down the story, past a photo of a buxom young
woman with a glass in her hand. Down to the pertinent paragraph.

“. . . I don’t usually do this kind of thing,” Ms.
Soames, a vivacious brunette, said. “But when I first met Nic at post-match
party a couple years ago, he needed somebody to talk to. That’s all it was, at
first. His girlfriend didn’t really understand the pressure he was under, he
told me. We ended up talking all night. He was so unhappy, and so grateful to
have somebody who understood him and was willing to listen. He just wanted to
be comforted. He appreciated that so much. And ever since, we’ve had something
really special. He comes to see me whenever the team’s in Wellington. I don’t
think he has anyone in his life who loves him for who he is, not the way I do.”